In the Name of the Moon
by Hazuzu
Summary: On the coast of Scotland, the captured families of Muggle-born witches and wizards wait to be ferried to Azkaban. They don't know why they've been caught, where they're going, or how to get out. One day, a new face arrives in the camp and offers them freedom... For a price.


This story was written for the 8th Round of the Seventh Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as Chaser 3 for The Tutshill Tornados.

**Name of Round: **You Can't Predict It All!

**My task this round is as follows:** Ace of Swords — Reversed: Confusion, Brutality, Chaos

**These are the prompts I'm using to as a chaser to score some extra points:**

5\. [restriction] No mention of Hogwarts

11\. [restriction] No Gryffindors or Slytherins

14\. [word] Immune

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of Harry Potter.

Thanks to all my betas!

**WARNING:** Violence, undead.

**Title:** In the Name of the Moon

**Words: **2998 (GoogleDocs)

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~End of Author's Notes~

* * *

Briar found herself being dragged down the hall of a cruise ship by a great brute of a man, her trainers squeaking against the polished floor. Her plan was going swimmingly.

"Come on, you bloody dead weight." The bloke rasped in Briar's ear. At the far end of the hall, she could see a dozen Snatchers clad in stolen finery, chortling as they necked bottle after bottle of wine. Briar's initial impression of them as tossers was as strong as when she'd first eavesdropped on them. That was only a couple of days ago, but still...

As their silhouettes passed the open door, a pair of hazy eyes shot up in recognition.

"Oi, Geezer!" The owner of said eyes yelled out, her voice as shrill as an owl. "Get your arse to the engine!"

"I'll do it when I know what the Hell's wrong with it. And I can't figure that out when I've got runaways, can I?" The great lug of a man yanked Briar up by her hoodie, his calloused fingers scraping the back of her neck. "Perhaps if you'd stop swallowing half the nation's booze and keep an eye out, I wouldn't be here."

"Oh, piss off!" The woman tossed the bottle in her hand down the hall. It shattered into a thousand glass pieces, filling Briar's nostrils with the heady scent of alcohol. Her attempt at wrenching away resulted only in a tighter grip. "We've got the Inferi for that shite. Just get us to Azkaban, will ya?"

"Then find me replacement par—" Geezer pursed his lips. "Never mind, get back to your partying." He let Briar's feet touch the floor, let her gasp for breath, then dragged her out of the nearest door to meet the night. He hummed a soothing tune as he went.

Chilly water lapped at Crosskirk Bay. The clouds were ripe with rain, and not a soul dared to speak above the wind. Goosebumps flared on Briar's skin, but she could withstand a little cold. A little discomfort. A little strangling.

Then Briar met the exit ramp and what she saw reminded her that she wasn't immune to everything.

A camp awaited her. Two dozen tents were set up on the now-flattened grass, creaking constructions of wood and sheets. A few fires had been set up, a meager collection of blankets, and the people that lingered among them may well have been half-dead. They were clumped around the flames or else buried in their tents, and every kind of person was there. Dishevelled youths in bomber jackets, misplaced adults in worn-down workwear, even octogenarians whose prime had long since passed.

There were nearly thirty captives when Briar first scouted the camp, but they weren't as dreadful as what surrounded the camp. A horde of pale creatures stood in the dark. The flickering firelight coiled around their malformed limbs, their pasty flesh, and their protruding bones. All they did was stare.

"Get back to your tent, Muggle." Geezer tossed Briar down the end of the ramp. She stumbled onto the cold, hard ground.

A young girl wrapped in her dad's coat ran up to the ramp. "Mister… Can we get on the boat? Please? Pretty please?" the girl pleaded, her fingers trembling in her pockets.

"Let me ask you something." Geezer withdrew a wand from his pocket-covered robes. "Do you know what this is?"

The girl's bright blue eyes lit up.

Briar winced.

"It's a stick!" the girl declared.

"Wrong. If you don't know what it is, you don't get on the boat." Geezer flicked his wand, a flash of light filled the night, and the girl was sent sprawling. A trio of people rushed to the little girl's side as she cried, but Geezer was already halfway up the ramp, humming a cheery tune.

Briar dusted her hands off on her jeans and headed for the most central fire in the camp. That was where she needed to be. As she walked, she realized that there was only so much the Snatchers were willing to do. She passed by small mounds of ash and rubbish that had been left in the space behind tents and was grateful for the stench of smoke coming from the crackling of fires because at least it provided a shroud for the human misery that surrounded her.

"Hello," Briar greeted the three people that were gathered around the fire. She squatted beside it, held her hands out to the fire, and sighed.

"You're new," said a young man. He was right by the fire, dressed in only a t-shirt, and his right arm was covered in cuts. Briar knew a Diffindo scar when she saw one.

"How can you tell?" Briar cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You've still got some hope, right..." The young man raised a hovering finger, then pointed at Briar's ear. "There. Just a bit, but I've got an eye for these things."

"Cute." Briar looked at the other faces around the fire, every one the picture of despair. "I'm Briar." She held back a smile. That would only make her look suspicious. "The rest of you?"

"Tim," the young man said.

"Susan." There was a woman older than Briar by half, her hand tightly clasped by the man beside her.

"Pete." The man didn't even look away from the fire.

"And what are we here for?" Briar asked the lot of them. She already knew the answer.

"Our daughter, Penelope," Susan said. "They took her, and we ran, and I didn't want to, and we did, and now we're here, and they keep calling us Muggles." Her eyes stared a hole through Briar as she babbled. "And they're taking us to Azkaban, and I don't know what that is, and we have no food, and my daughter is gone, and they said she'd be safe, at school, at—"

"Hey," Briar cut her off. She didn't want to be cruel, but hysteria was infectious. "You don't have to dredge it all up. I get it. Tim?" She glanced at the man.

"My little bro's a wizard. Mum is too," Tim tore his gaze away from Susan. "They got Mum, so she's waiting for me, probably. As for my brother… I just hope he's still out there and eating better than me." He looked Briar over. "What about you? You don't sound British."

Briar leaned in conspiratorially. "That's because I'm not," she whispered. Even with as little as the Muggles knew, revealing her home in the motherland could get her skinned.

"What are you doing here?" Pete asked, his voice steady and his eyes still. "This is a British problem. That's why nobody is showing up to help. Nobody from those other governments. That's right, isn't it?"

"I'm here because I chose to be." Briar shrugged and decided that Pete was a bit of an arse. But that was fine, so were a lot of people. "Did you know that none of us are going to Azkaban?"

"What?" Susan's head shot up. "But they said! Straight to Azkaban, straight to Dementors, straight to whatever is waiting for us!" Briar could smell the fear.

"They can't fix the boat." Briar shrugged. "They've been trying for a few days. Odd. They have magic. They're thinking the same things as you, but with more curses and a lot more drinking. The engine is missing a part."

"What part?" Tim eyed her curiously.

"You know, I have no idea. I grabbed whatever looked important." Briar chuckled. Those things were at the far, far bottom of the ocean and had been for days.

"What?" Tim suddenly lurched, pulling himself into a sitting position. "You stole from them? Like, from their ship?"

"Not their ship. They stole it," Briar informed him with a raised finger. "I wanted to make sure you all didn't get taken." She shrugged. "You're welcome."

"Now what?" There was no venom in Pete's voice, Briar realized. It probably took him all his energy just to keep his voice level. "We sit here and starve to death?"

"No. I'm going to tell you all a story." Briar rubbed her hands together and looked among the three. "Werewolves. What do you know?"

Tim shrugged helplessly.

"A-an American Werewolf in London," Susan answered. Briar raised an eyebrow at her. "It's a brilliant movie, about a werewolf, and he goes to Yorkshire."

"I love Yorkshire," Pete added. "The Dales are beautiful this time of year."

"And he gets attacked, and then they go to London, and… Oh, what was it? It's been so long..." Susan furrowed her brow in search of a memory. "Oh, he dies at the end. I remember that..." Her eyes drooped a little.

"How'd he die?" Briar asked. She was winging it, but she'd heard the stories before. The chances of it being more than nonsense were barely above zero.

"Well, they," Susan glanced over her shoulder and whispered: "They shot him."

"That's how you know a Yank made it," Pete said. "Arrogant bastards."

"Rather than the perfectly pleasant Britons we're here with." Tim spread his hands out around him. "Even the dead ones, better than an American, am I right?" he drawled.

Pete's eyes snapped away from the fire. Susan brought a hand to her forehead.

"Listen here, y—"

"Shh!" Briar hushed the pair of them. All eyes were on her, just as it was meant to be. "Bullets don't work on werewolves. Not immune, but good enough. The wounds close, the flesh heals, and they keep running. Knives, swords? Don't work, not even with goblin silver, unless you cut something off."

"What's you—"

"Shh." Briar held a finger out. "Think of the meanest dog you've ever seen. Dobermanns, Boxers, Great Danes. The kind you see in the news after they've mauled someone half to death. You doing it?"

"Yes..." The hairs on Pete's hands were standing up.

"Now imagine it's as smart as a human. Imagine it's faster, stronger. Picture it coming at you with the kind of ferocity that can't be stopped by a squeaky ball and a strip of bacon." None of them were looking at Briar any more, but they didn't have to. There were already scared; she was just making sure she had a hand on the reigns.

"Now." Briar ran a tongue over her teeth. "Imagine you're a wizard, or witch, Susan. You've been slinging spells all your life. You can make fire with a wave of your wand. You can summon your missing socks whenever you want. You even know a few ways to kill a man. Might be you're hired to hunt people. Might be you've got a big payday waiting, and you're feeling so good you throw a party on your pilfered ship."

Tim scratched his cuts.

"You're walking out to check on your captives when one of those dogs comes at you. Maybe you get your wand before it reaches you. Maybe you cast a stunning spell. Maybe it stumbles, just a little, and its claws skitter

on the deck. Maybe you throw another two, and it finally falls. And you pant, you look down the deck, and you see another dozen headed straight for you. You yell, you hurl hexes this way and that, your heart constricts, you find it hard to breathe and then..."

Briar clapped her hands once. Her audience startled, and Pete muttered a curse.

"You're dead. In your final moments, you realize that maybe… Being a wizard doesn't make you immune to karma. Or a snapped neck." She chuckled.

"You're..." Tim's brow was knitted together. "You're saying that werewolves can kill wizards."

"Verified wizard-killers." Briar winked. "They're at the top of the food chain. Officially one of the most dangerous creatures known to wizardkind. And our guards?" She gazed out of the throngs of misery that filled the camp, to a clusters of animated carrion. "They're dead meat. No stronger than a human, just a little tougher. No match for a werewolf."

"So… So werewolves can save us." Susan squeezed her husband's hand. "They can, can't they?"

"Oh yes." Briar nodded. "And did you know? There's going to be a full moon tomorrow."

"Where are they?" Susan leaned closer. The fire lit up her face, the lines that had been drawn in despair. "Will they be here?"

"One is." Briar grinned wolfishly. "And there could be more. If enough people are willing..." She tilted her head to the side. "We could all be out of here in two days. No Snatchers, no zombies, no Dementors, no prison cells. Just freedom, and the protection of a witch who knows how to lead a pack better than anyone." That much, she was certain of.

"Why would you do this?" Pete demanded. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be."

Briar's gaze fell to the ground. "We all miss having a family, Pete." At least one she lead couldn't kick her out.

"I'll do it." Susan's voice started as a whisper. "I—I'll do it. Bite me."

"Susan?" Pete stared at her.

"For Penelope." Susan nodded. "If we can fight these bastards, I'll do it. Bite me." She rolled up the sleeve of her cardigan and thrust her arm out to Briar.

".. Me too." Tim looked at his arms and held out the uninjured one. "Henry'll be surprised when he founds out I can hang with the wizards."

Pete stayed where he was. Susan shot a look his way. A hundred conversations were had in the expressions that followed.

"At least we won't be shot..." Pete mumbled and thrust his arm out.

"Grand. But not yet." Briar waved their arms down. "We need more than four werewolves. Especially for rookies. Go through the camp. Tell your friends. Tell strangers. Tell old men, children. Tell anyone who'll listen." She rose to her feet in one swift motion. It wasn't much, but among starved, cold people, she was a Queen. "If anyone has questions, send them to me. Got it?"

"Got it." Tim pulled himself up with a little stumbling.

"We'll do it." Susan and Pete helped each other stand on wobbling legs. "We're doing it."

They walked off to do just that. Briar retrieved a flask from her hoodie pocket and took a swig of the foul concoction within. She winced at the bitter tentacles that wrapped around her tongue, just another thing she wasn't immune to. But how could she lead her pack if she wasn't conscious for the affair?

* * *

The night turned to day as the four of them talked their way through the camp. They stopped whenever the Snatchers came to check, to deliver their meager offerings from the cruise ship's hold, or just to deliver a few threats to their prisoners. As the hours passed, the pack grew. One by one, the captives became strong again. Hour by hour, vitality returned to their flesh. And every one of them counted down the seconds until the sunset.

The last of the light faded. The sound of clothes tearing rippled across the water. Grunts and groans filled the air as bones twisted, flesh warped, and fur sprouted. From the old to the young, men to women, every living body in that camp contorted into something different. Even the skeptics. From desperate captives to creatures of the night. The Inferi horde stood watching, their dead jaws gaping and unaware of the transformation that had just taken place.

A dozen wolves barrelled into the Inferi, snapping jaws meeting brittle bone to unleash of a chorus of cracks. Dead arms tried to grab them, but one wolf was replaced by another and another empty skull shattered as a powerful paw slammed it into the ground.

Briar watched the Inferi being devoured with predatory glee. The dead were one thing, but they were already shattered, and not nearly so satisfying a prey as what awaited on the ship. She prowled to the ramp and unleashed a howl that beckoned every member of her new pack to her side. Those that weren't fang-deep in revenant bones stalked to her side.

They stormed the ship together. Across the deck, down stairs, up stairs, and Briar gave them free reign to do as they wished. She could already smell the scent of blood in the air, the countless curses being flung, but not a single wolf let out a dying breath. But she had somewhere particular in mind, and her claws clicked against the floor as she skulked towards the engine room.

"Bollocks to the engine! Let's strap broomsticks to the ship!" declared one of the oblivious Snatchers at the far end of the hall.

"That won't work! Apparate 'em!" another cackled.

"One by one? You're off your tits!" chastised a third. Their ludicrous banter turned into a cacophony of screams as she padded down the stairs. She knew where she was going; she'd been there before.

Geezer's humming was cut short by the sound of padding paws. "I swear if you're here to moan agai—" He was cut off by his own scream as Briar sunk her teeth into his brawny neck. She kept him flailing and panicking as she dragged him away from the engine room. It took no effort at all.

Geezer kept struggling and got another few teeth in his neck every time he tried to grasp his wand. Briar sniffed through the chaos that encompassed the cruise ship, the stench of death and spilled wine in her nose, until she found one of her new sisters.

A little werewolf, about half Briar's size, was feasting on the guts of a Snatcher when Briar entered. She peered up at the scent of fresh meat, her eyes bright and blue. Briar dropped Geezer in front of her, his chest heaving with the sheer effort of trying to breathe.

The little werewolf peered at Geezer for just a second. There was a spark of recognition, and then she lurched forward and crushed his neck in her jaws.

Briar wasn't immune to a little pride.


End file.
